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Minho: [in a crowd and can't find Newt] This calls for drastic measures.

Minho: [uses hands as microphone] ALBY IS A TERRIBLE LEADER.

Newt: [from somewhere] THE SHUCK DID YOU JUST SAY??

Minho: Found him.

  -✼- 

For a second, the world stopped.

Everything was moving in slow motion as Thomas fell to the ground from the force of the bullet hitting him, landing face-first into the cement. I watched with a sense of detachment in me. It was almost as if I wasn't really there. Then I blinked and I was holding the gun, having just shot my twin brother, his blood now on my hands as well.

My name was a distant echo in my ear. I heard it once, twice, hazy and muffled like I was underwater. It was clear the third time; I blinked and snapped back into focus. Turmoil was occurring around me- Minho was punching the living daylight out of the man who had shot Thomas. The man who had shot him. I looked down at my hands in confusion that I wasn't the one holding the gun. Wasn't I just carrying it?

"Dylan!" Newt called again, already crouched down at my brother's side as blood began blossoming on his shoulder. "Dylan, come on and help me."

I blinked and bent down to tend to Thomas. The blood was increasing its flow, rapidly pouring out of the wound where the bullet was lodged into his shoulder. The skin around it was oozing red in thick trickles that made me nauseous.

"He shot me," Thomas whispered in disbelief, eyes shifting from his injury to Newt to me and then the sky, darting around wildly in his skull.

"He's in shock, I think," I said without really realizing it. I didn't remember thinking those words at all. "Someone hand me a shirt."

Even if my mind didn't want to comprehend what was going on, my body did. Someone handed me a shirt like I asked. When I pressed it against Thomas' shoulder, he cried out in such a way that made a shudder run through me.

"Dylan, here." Newt gently placed his hand over mine as he gave me a look of great concern. "Together."

I nodded and closed my eyes briefly, thankful for his help.

"I can get that sucker out of him," Jorge informed us as he bent over Thomas. "But I'll need a fire."

"We can't do this here," Newt argued.

Minho - when had he returned? - nodded in agreement. "Let's get out of this shuck city."

"All right." I stood, once again moving as if my brain was on autopilot. The words and actions were coming but I didn't seem to be doing them. "Help me carry him."

"Dylan, no," Frypan scolded before I could even bend to lift my brother. "You crazy? You're in no state of mind for that."

"I'm fine," my voice dismissed him along with a wave of my hand. Why was I lying to him? Why did my body not want to listen?

I waited until the count of three. I lifted my brother up. I watched him pass out.

-/-

Thomas drifted in and out of consciousness for hours. He woke in awkward intervals, said something incomprehensible, and then drifted back off. It was starting to worry me about how often he was passing out, but Jorge assured me it was normal because of how much pain he was in. I doubted that.

We had stopped on the outskirts of town, back in the desert once again. There was nothing but dry, orange dirt instead of sand. It was a relief. I didn't think I could handle trudging my heavy brother with my feet falling back two inches with every step.

I sat on an old log away from the others. Watching Jorge remove the bullet was not something I wished to witness, especially when he warned us it would involve a lot of screaming on Thomas' part. So, I sat on the log with my hands clamped over my ears as his screeches of agony swirled around my head, trying to block them out.

My hands shook and I clenched them into fists to try and make them stop. Forget knives- now I knew I'd probably picture Theo every time I picked up a gun.

Someone's crunching footsteps approached with an uneven rhythm. Newt. I knew before he even came into my line of vision, so when he sat down next to me on the log, I wasn't startled or expecting anyone other than him.

"Are you okay?" he asked even though he most likely already knew the answer.

"Fine," I lied once again, not looking at him and instead staring down at my clasped hands. "Totally fine."

"You know you can't lie to me, Dylan," he said in a blank tone that made it impossible to read his emotions. "I know you too well. Memories are foggy and I don't remember everything you did, but I know enough. You're not fine."

A pause as I sniffled. My voice came out quiet and crackling. "Of course I'm not." My head tilted up to glance at the setting sun at the horizon, melting into the orange ground. "I just got my brother back and now he's been shot. Jorge said it was infected badly- the bullet wasn't clean. Newt, do you know how bad that is?"

I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye. "I know. But Tommy's a strong one."

I decided not to counter that. Thomas was strong. It was a thought to ease my aching mind.

My entire body hurt from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, along with everything inside. I still felt like my heart was caving in on itself until it was bruised. Every bone weighed much more than I should've. I was tired - so, so painfully tired - but more in a physical way than mental.

I needed a distraction, something to keep me from wallowing in my pool of misery. Newt was right beside me. With a turn, me moving his head, and a lean forward, my lips were on his. He breathed in deeply through his nose in surprise. However, he complied and slid a hand up to my cheek to rest it there. Our mouths moved in slow synchronization with each other with my heart about to burst.

I wanted to tell him so badly. The words almost fell from my lips in haste, but I just managed to stop myself. I love you.

Newt pulled away so he was mere inches from me and his breath fanned my face when he spoke. "You're hurting, Dylan. I don't think—"

But one look into my eyes and he fell short. They were glassy, almost brimming with tears but not quite so at the same time. He barely took a second before pulling me in again. Now that he was prepared, his kiss was firmer instead of careful and I wanted to smile in spite of myself. There were so many emotions inside of me that were colliding like a whirlwind.

I only stopped when I felt my heart couldn't take it anymore and crawled into his lap, leaning my head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around my waist loosely to keep me up. I felt his chin rest on my head with a plop.

"We'll get through this," he assured me in a low hum. "We will."

Another thought to place into the Bank of Advice Dylan Should Listen To. But with my heavy heart and sorrowful mind, I doubted I could believe it.

Sleep came more easily than I would have thought. I expected to be up all night, but I drifted off to a peaceful slumber for the most part. Newt's arms were hugging me close to him as we laid on the hard surface of the packed earth, using our jackets as pillows. My face was nuzzled into his neck. It was comforting, like the old days back in the Glade.

I almost hated to admit it, but having that stupid place back would be heaven compared to the Scorch.

Sunrise felt like it came five minutes later. My eyelids did not want to lift whatsoever, so when Newt stirred, I couldn't open my eyes. He tried shaking me several times to no avail. Eventually, he started placing kisses all over my face in a manner that tickled more than anything, and I was up in a flash.

Then the Berg came.

It was subtle at first- the noise it made. Or, it was to me because I was half-deaf, but it grew louder and louder until I was cringing at the sound. Gladers were scattered about as they searched the sky to find the flying machine, as Jorge called in his short explanation of what a Berg was.

A large type of hovercraft descended toward us, stopping about fifteen feet in the air. Two strange-looking people clambered down a rope ladder in even stranger outfits. Gas masks, lab coats, and baggy pants that swallowed them whole. Once they reached the ground, they paid no attention to the rest of us and began heading straight for Thomas.

Thomas. He was barely awake, but awake all the same, and panic seemed to seize him at the sight of the people nearing him. Brenda whispered something to him.

"What're you doing?" I shouted to them over the loudness of the hovercraft. "Stop! Leave him alone!"

"Let them take him." Jorge was suddenly right beside me, holding my arm in case I tried to bolt- not that I couldn't easily escape if I wanted to. "Listen, they're going to clean the infection."

"How do you know?" I demanded. "Who are these people?"

No response. They started to attach Thomas to some sort of stretcher that would lift him into the Berg, and once they finished, they faced me. My heart stopped as they stepped closer and closer with mechanical steps. Jorge's grip on my arm tightened until it was like a vice when I tensed.

"What--" Newt tried to say with a baffled expression. "What are you doing?"

The people were right in front of me now. Their gas masks revealed nothing but foggy plastic coverings where they saw out of, pale faces staring back at me through them. It was something straight out of a horror movie.

"We will fix you," one of them said in a muffled voice- a female, I could guess. It held absolutely no emotion and sounded like a recording from the mask.

"There's nothing wrong with her!" Newt shouted as he darted forward. This time, Brenda was there to hold him back with both arms. Her strength and experience were no match for his. He turned and snarled at her. "Let me go!"

"We will fix you," the woman repeated, and jammed a syringe into my neck.

-/-

"Dylan, we need you to tell us everything you remember."

I stared at the painfully white tiles beneath the table, pulling my lips into a line to show him I wasn't about to answer. I had seen the logo on their coats the instant I woke up handcuffed to the chair- W.I.C.K.E.D. Just the acronym itself made my stomach churn.

Rat Man of all people sat across from me, hands folded on the table like a good businessman. I knew better. My mouth stayed firmly closed even if I was bound to the chair and had nowhere to run.

"What's it to you?" I fired back without looking up at him. My words contained so much acidity that I was surprised they didn't burn him.

Rat Man gave a surprised chortle. "What's it to me?" He leaned forward on his elbows with his eyes narrowing. "We need to control your memories, that's what's it to me."

"Why? So you can erase them again? Not going to happen."

"You don't understand." He shook his head as if I was a stupid child. "If you somehow receive too much information at once, it could kill you. We don't want you to die."

"Why not?" I finally looked up with a murderous expression that could have cut him into pieces. My jaw was locked so firmly in a scowl that it ached. "Others died in the Glade. Alby. Garret. Zart. Max. What's my death other than another one to mark in your books?"

Rat Man slammed his fists onto the table in frustration, making me jump and the restraints to dig into my skin from how tight they were. "You are valuable, that's what! Somehow, Subject A5 has memories only of you. Your brother knew your name before you did. You're the only one remembering significant details. We need to know why. We're trying to save your life."

"Yeah, and you've done a hell of a job of it so far."

Rat Man stood up and paced the room, adjusting his frameless glasses on his crooked nose as he grumbled beneath his breath. His bony face was quickly flushing red with anger. He looked no different than when I saw him at what I thought was a sanctuary, but turned out to be another lie. Another trick. Another check in their charts.

Because that was all we were to them- Variables.

Rat Man pressed the intercom button beside the door. "Bring Dr. Freema in, please." He sighed and sent me a dangerous look. "Thank you for your cooperation, Dylan. You've been of great use to us."

And then he was gone.

The door slid shut with a soft click, making me lean back in my chair with a sigh. I thought that was it until a hissing sound emitted from the ceiling. My eyes directed toward the ceiling to see a white mist swirling from multiple spouts, quickly filling the room. I coughed when it entered my system, constricting my lungs and blocking my airway. The bounds restricted my movements when I struggled to get out of them. My eyelids struggled to stay open until I couldn't take it anymore and succumbed to the darkness.

gif is dylan when she looks up at the ceiling

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i actually really like how i wrote this chapter and i hope you guys did too (:

questions:

-do you think W.I.C.K.E.D did something to dylan? if so, what?

-will she still have her memories when she wakes up? (aka the ones of her past?)

-how many times do you think thomas has passed out in the entire trilogy?

-do you understand how dylan feels about all of this?

until next time,

kristyn